Love Divided
by Uluithiel
Summary: Rosie's heart is breaking as she watches her husband's love for Frodo


Title: Love Divided Author: Uluithiel Characters: Frodo, Sam, Rosie Rating: PG-13 Date Completed: 14 June 2002 Warning: het content implied Summary: Rosie's heart is breaking as she sees her husband's hopeless love for Frodo. She resolves to do something about it Story Notes: This is the only way that makes sense to me  
  
Love Divided  
  
February 26, 1421 (in the Shire reckoning) Bag End, The Shire  
  
"But my dear Sam, how easy! Get married as soon as you can, and then move in with Rosie. There's room enough in Bag End for as big a family as you could wish for." Return of the King p 304  
  
"Won't you take a bite more, Mr. Frodo? A cat would starve on what you've eaten today!" Rosie Gardner clucked disapprovingly over the nearly-full plate. "I like to see my cooking appreciated, I do," she added ominously, hoping to spark a smile.  
  
Frodo tried to smile, but it was wan. "I'm fine, Rosie, really. I'm not very hungry tonight. I feel restless somehow. I think I'll walk in the garden awhile before I turn in."  
  
Two pairs of eyes followed him as he walked toward the door. "Take your cloak!" called Rosie, but Sam's throat was too tight for any words. His plate was not empty either, and Rosie sighed as she cleared it from in front of him. "I'm sure I don't know what's wrong with you lads tonight," she chided. "Certainly Mr. Frodo is never a big eater - most unnatural for a hobbit - but tonight he hardly tried a bite. And now here you are moping as well. Get along with you, lad!" she cried as Sam clumsily tried to embrace her. Her blossoming belly nestled against his back, and he let his head fall back onto her breast. "Peaked you look, Sam. Are you sickening? Let me make some hot tea."  
  
"Nay, lass, I'm fine," said her husband. Or leastways I'm not sickening for anything. But I'm feeling that restless too. I think I'll go into the garden for a smoke." Rosie smiled gratefully. Her pregnancy had made her sensitive to pipeweed smoke, and Sam had been unfailingly thoughtful in keeping it away from her. Frodo did not smoke these days.  
  
Rose finished the washing-up quickly, her mind abstracted. Her eyes were as bright as those of the young hobbit-lass that had flirted with young Samwise Gamgee so long ago, but now she was wife, soon to be mother, and her merry eyes had wisdom in their depths. Her smile was happy, but it also had the melancholy of a woman who loves, and watches, and worries.  
  
Not a full year had passed since she had wed Samwise Gamgee under the flowering mallorn in the Party Field. Yet it also seemed forever she had been his wife. The two of them had settled seamlessly into Bag End, caring for Mr. Frodo. And a power of caring that took too! Mr. Frodo Baggins had always been an odd one. Folks said he had Elvish blood, though Rosie had never listened to such silly talk. Yet there was no getting around an odd air he had about him, even before the Journey.  
  
Rose shivered as she remembered, and she pulled her shawl from its hook to wrap around her before she settled into the carven rocker before the setting room fire. Neither Mr. Frodo nor her Sam would talk much about that Journey, but she read its toils in their eyes, especially Mr. Frodo's. Haunted he looked at times. And tonight was one of those times.  
  
She heard a murmuring in the garden. Half-guiltily she crept to the window seat to listen.  
  
"Is it the old wound, Mr. Frodo?" Sam's voice was achingly tender.  
  
"No, Sam, though my left arm is a little cold. No, it's not that. I'm quite over that spell, Sam. That was months ago."  
  
"Then what is it me dear? Can't your Sam help?" Rosie's heart almost broke at the longing she heard in her husband's voice.  
  
"I don't know, Sam. I feel restless and anxious and . . .oh!" Rosie jumped as the voice swung around. "It's February. The 26th, if I'm not mistaken. I can't be certain, but wasn't this the day we left Parth Galen?"  
  
"Well, Mr. Frodo, I'll be switched if you aren't right. I think it is. Whew! What a day that was! I almost lost you that day."  
  
"Oh, Sam," murmured Frodo. Rosie peeked out into the garden and saw the two forms merge into one, arms clinging. Tears pricked her lids as she saw her husband's hand tenderly smooth Frodo's tumbled curls. Very quietly she crept from the window and into the bedchamber.  
  
"Rose-wife me dear? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"  
  
"I was waiting up for you, Sam. I wanted to talk to you." Rose watched as Sam undressed, seeing the strong cords of a yeoman's muscles in his back, the brown of a gardener on his arms, the gold glint of heaven in his curly hair. Her lip trembled a bit, but she was adamant. This had gone on long enough. She would have it out, one way or another.  
  
Sam crawled into bed and smoothed a rough hand over her lovely swell of belly. She smiled. "Little Sam was waiting up for you too".  
  
"Frodo-lad, you mean," Sam said absently, and Rose took a deep breath. She *would* speak.  
  
In the days before the Journey (and she always thought of it in capital letters) she had been aware despairingly of the bond between Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee. Time and again she would hover over their table at the Green Dragon Inn, bringing them ale and chips, teasing saucily, but to no avail. They had eyes for no one but each other. Once or twice Sam responded timidly to her flirting, but he was terribly shy and always turned back to Frodo.  
  
And Frodo had never dallied with the hobbit-lasses in Hobbiton. Nor could Pearl Took entrance him when she visited from Tuckborough, though she certainly tried. Many a time Pearl and Rosie had bemoaned their fates, loving lads who were bound to each other.  
  
When Mr. Frodo sold Bag End, and was moving to Crickhollow, Rosie dared to hope that in his absence Sam might notice her. But Mr. Frodo had taken Sam with him to Crickhollow - and beyond. Far beyond. And though both had come back, Mr. Frodo had never fully recovered.  
  
He tried to hide his darkness, but Rosie had a woman's eye. Last October, the first week of the month it was, Mr. Frodo had taken a bad turn. His eyes seemed as if they were seeing things far away, and were unable to see the good things nearby - a nice dinner, a warm fire. She had seen his hand go often to a white stone pendant he always wore, and she knew when he was coming on for one of his bad turns, because his left hand would absently stroke the right, the hand that was missing its third finger.  
  
And Sam's devotion to Frodo had never wavered. He had wed Rosie, and no hobbit lass could ask for a better husband. He was tender, attentive, and gentle with her. She rejoiced at the thought of filling his life with little hobbit lasses and lads, as she knew he would be the best of fathers. But his allegiance was divided. Her Sam was being torn in two. He loved Rosie, she did not doubt that, but he also loved Mr. Frodo with a love whose dimensions she could never fully understand.  
  
She would ignore the situation no longer. Tonight she was going to act.  
  
"Sam, we've a problem, and I mean to fix it."  
  
Sam was instantly alert. "What is it, my Rose-wife? Are you feeling poorly? Is there a problem with the bairn?"  
  
Rosie's eyes misted at his instant concern. It strengthened her resolve.  
  
"We've a problem between *us*, my Sam." Seeing his eyes widen, she plunged on. "And that problem is Mr. Frodo. You can't go on being torn in two like this, Sam! It's breaking your heart, and mine too."  
  
Sam had paled, and his sturdy hand trembled a little as he reached to take hers. "Rosie, I've never hidden anything from you. You know Mr. Frodo was my first love, and our Journey - well, it made a bond between us. But you're my wife, lass, and since we've wed Frodo and I have never . . ."  
  
"Yes, I *know* you've never," cried Rosie in exasperation. "What did you think I was talking about?" And as Sam gaped at her, she sat up against the bolsters and faced him squarely. "Your heart, and your bed, are too large for one hobbit lass to fill alone," she said tenderly. "Why do you shut out the other love that's held your heart so long?"  
  
Sam's gaping mouth closed, but it was a moment before words could emerge. "I vowed to myself on the day we wed that I would put away the other, lass. It isn't fair on you to only have half a husband."  
  
"And what do you think I have now? Oh, Sam, don't you think I see how you suffer? Don't you think I know the pain you're in when he's cold and lonely and you can't comfort him as you should? Do you think I haven't seen your pain when you must put him out of your arms - as you did tonight? Isn't it time you let him stay in your arms? It's where he belongs." In one movement, graceful despite her bulging belly, Rose swept up from the bed to stand over her husband. "Now up with you, my lad, and march right on out of here!"  
  
"Wh . . . what? Where?" Sam stammered.  
  
"Why, to Mr. Frodo's room, of course," she said.  
  
Sam looked up at her, her shining eyes, the moon glowing through the thin stuff of her wrapper. "I'm . . . I'm going to Frodo's room?"  
  
"Of course you are," Rosie said firmly. "And I'm coming with you."  
  
At that phrase, Sam's breath stopped, and he burst into tears. Rosie sank back onto the bed and gathered him into her arms, rocking and soothing him. As she rocked, he choked out the story on her breast. She turned cold at the terrible things she was hearing, yet she rejoiced that at last Sam was able to tell her some of the horror.  
  
He spoke of a big River, and boats. He spoke of the Elf Legolas and his singing bowstring; of Meriadoc and Peregrine and their foolish bravery. Rosie trembled as he told her of their mad heroics that had led the Orcs away from Frodo. Sam spoke of the Dwarf Gimli and his lethal axe, and of Strider, the Ranger who led their company. And he spoke of the Man Boromir.  
  
Rosie didn't understand all the talk about the Ring of Power, but she knew avarice, and she had seen evil. Tears ran down her cheeks as Sam told her what he knew of the Man's attack on Frodo and Frodo's anguished flight.  
  
Sam was sobbing as he told her how he had run through the woods, searching for Mr. Frodo. How he had heard, with horror, the clash of swords and the cries of the Orcs. How he had finally come to his senses and quit running witlessly through the woods, and made for the boats like lightning. At this point Sam tore himself from her arms and clasped her shoulders, looking into her face, his tears streaming.  
  
"When I got to the shore, he was leaving. The boat was out in the lake, and I called 'Mr. Frodo! Frodo, come back!" and he didn't even turn. "Go back, Sam,' he said, his voice so cold and distant. And I - I couldn't stop. I *wouldn't* stop. I ran into the water, and finally he stopped his paddling and looked at me. 'Go back, Sam,' he said. 'I'm going to Mordor alone'. And I said . . . I said "Of course you are! And I'm coming with you!"  
  
Sam collapsed back into her arms in fresh tears. It was several minutes before he could say, hiccupping, "Two years ago today, that was."  
  
Rosie's eyes streamed tears, but her voice was steady. "Then you mustn't let him get away from you tonight." She rose from the bed, kissed her husband very tenderly, and extended her hand to him. "Come on, Sam."  
  
'Come on, Sam'. Sam saw a sunlit field, a scarecrow that scared no birds, rows of corn. He remembered his fear, knowing that one more step would take him into places he had never gone before. Yet Frodo had been there, extending his hand, smiling like the sun. "Come on, Sam," he had said, and Sam had taken his hand, and he had gone.  
  
He rose from the bed, clasped his wife's hand, and together they walked down the hall towards the closed door at the end of it.  
  
the end 


End file.
